


Immobile

by SeverinadeStrango



Category: Sengoku Basara
Genre: Akechi Mitsuhide is His Own Warning, Anal Sex, Double Penetration, Explicit Sexual Content, Implied Jealousy, M/M, Manipulation, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-10-16 21:31:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17553569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeverinadeStrango/pseuds/SeverinadeStrango
Summary: Mitsuhide is helpless between them both, and it is exactly where he wants to be.





	Immobile

**Author's Note:**

> Akiyama Nobutomo is a historically based OC created by my friend @judasetcetera.

Mitsuhide could only wonder how long it had been since the two of _them_ were intimate together – he’d picked up here and there on a few hints of a past run, perhaps years ago. The way that Nobutomo would speak of his Lord. The way that they would look at one another, sometimes, as if they were equals before the both of them remembered themselves and schooled their expressions back into stony, impenetrable masks. How long had it been, and how much had remained unsaid between them?

Quite a lot.

It was being said now, though, as much as could be said without words, passed through him even as he was crushed between them both, trampled by the sheer amount of tension that had been building amongst _all_ of them over the past few weeks. It had been interesting indeed – Mitsuhide had been wondering when it would all come to a head, when one or perhaps more of them would finally give in, when they would snap. That time was now, evidently.

He was rocked between them both, his head lying back on Nobutomo’s shoulder as he was shoved forwards into Shingen’s chest and then back again, a constant overwhelming wave. He found some comfort in the motion, in how his legs had long since gone numb, pushed so far open that he was surprised he’d not _broken_ something yet, stretched beyond what he had believed to be possible.

Mitsuhide loved it.

He adored this, being so thoroughly filled and rammed, over and over again, that he could not see clearly or focus on any one point, he couldn’t hear his own voice any longer even though he was fairly certain that he was making all sorts of sounds. He’d never been one for subtlety or silence, and now was no exception – the two of them, Nobutomo behind him and the Lord of the Takeda before him, seemed to agree. He didn’t know whose wrists were there on his arms, tightening to the point that he yelped in pain, delightful pain, but he wanted more of it, and voiced it so.

“Not enough – “

“Impatient.” This statement – of the obvious of course, why should he wait? – was punctuated by a particularly hard thrust from behind him, the low grunt that was distinctly Nobutomo’s. He’d felt it so often before and doubted that he would ever forget it, something to keep him warm in his late thoughts at night. And the tiger before him now, the snarl that Shingen wore on his face – 

“Give him what he wants.”

_“Hah - !”_

They both had set the same pace, stretching him wider still with each movement until Mitsuhide himself was astonished that he’d not torn right in half – it certainly felt like it. Teeth in his neck whose he didn’t know more more oh god. This is why you kept him, a rut for the raging bull? Mitsuhide couldn’t quite think of anywhere he’d have rather been at that point. 

His movements no longer his own and a dizzy smile on his face, he let himself be jostled between them both, drool leaking from the corner of his lips, the muscles of his legs straining with the effort that it took to hold them _open._

“Tear me apart!”

“Still _hungry_ for it?” He no longer could tell whose voice was whose. The same barreling force, his welcomed demise and ruin, it all was the same to him as his breath caught in his chest, again and again, his lungs dry and his eyelids heavy, so this was ecstasy and he never never never wanted to leave. Both pairs of heavy balls slapping lewdly against his thigh the fingers holding his mouth open for whatever reason, he wanted it all and he wanted it forever, squirming uselessly against the hands on his arms, his wrists, the ones holding him up, he no longer could feel where they were and it didn’t matter. All that _did_ was that rhythmic sting and burn, delving deeper into him he could have he could have _sworn_ oh yes that he’d felt it at the bottom of his throat, even if that was just his own wishful thinking. No, he’d not survive such brutal treatment, and they did want to get _some_ value out of him, after all.

Who knew that his captors would be so amusing? Lord Shingen in particular seemed determined to outdo Nobunaga-kou, and Mitsuhide almost felt pity for him, even as he was crushed against his chest, those low growls ringing deep in his ear. Didn’t they know that despite their formidable efforts (and they were efforts that he’d enjoyed indeed, oh yes), he would never and _could_ never belong to another?

For the time being, however, he’d continue to let them think so. There was no harm done, after all, especially if _this_ was the outcome.


End file.
